


experiment: lace, trust

by deadlybride



Series: zmediaoutlet [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, M/M, Panty Kink, Slight D/s Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: Sam helps Dean try something.





	

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my tumblr, zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com, on April 21, 2016

Dean’s got his eyes squeezed shut, his arm slung over his face so he’s breathing hot and fast against the inside of his elbow. He’s sweating, and blind, and there’s an ache building behind his eyes. He wraps his other hand into the pillow, hangs on tight. Three fingers twist in him, deep.

“That’s it,” Sam says, when Dean’s thighs start to shake. The tendons in his hips are aching, legs spread so wide he’s afraid something might pop. He’s loose, now, after Sam’s been working him for so long, so wet and open and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, flattens his hips out so Sam can get deeper. The fingers flutter, a  _one-two-three_ tap against his insides, and then rub just where he needs them, hard, so he groans.

A touch lands on his chest, skating through the sweat, down over his exposed stomach to where the head of his dick is kissing air, leaking messy against his belly. “Look so good like this,” he hears, quiet under his panting, and then the broad stroke of a thumb slides down his shaft, drags over where he’s still covered by lace, streaks his own mess down to where his balls are tucked up tight, straining. Almost hurts, but his hips jerk up into it anyway, and then Sam’s hand is on one of his thighs, keeping him flat to the memory foam.

“No, like this,” Sam says, not cruel, but Dean feels like his heart is going to come out of his chest.

“Sammy,” he says, and he sounds wrecked, but that’s just the facts. “I can't—”

The fingers shove deep, and again, and _finally_ Sam’s got a rhythm going. A touch nudges his arm away from his face and he grabs onto his headboard, holds on tight, keeps his eyes closed as a kiss lands on his cheekbone, next to his gasping mouth. “Come on,” Sam says, strained, against his ear, and Dean lets go of the pillow with his other hand and grabs the back of Sam’s neck, keeps him close. Sam kisses his jaw, bites under his ear, and his fingers are just moving smooth, knuckles slipping in easy, and Dean’s hips are moving with them, riding the pace as much as he can with no leverage, just chasing that deep-down punishing heat. It’s building tight in his balls, oozing out of his dick, but Sam doesn’t touch him there, just crams his fingers in deep and deep and deep again, lets the constriction of satin rubbing him against his own belly do the work for him, and finally Dean has to open his eyes and Sam’s filling his vision, blurry and dark-eyed and staring right back at him, and he hears Sam as if from a distance say, “God, are you really going to—you’re so hot like this, come on, let me see it—” and it comes out of him like a shot, body clenching down and that heat radiating through every part of him. He clamps tight around the fingers but it’s got him, now, waves rolling through and he’s making some kind of noise, hips shoving down and thighs aching. There’s a few seconds there, with his breath sobbing in his chest and his whole body tingling, when everything shitty about his life is, for once, miraculously fine.


End file.
